Godfrey Cross is a big, tattooed Dom with no tolerance for brats. But when he meets Gemma and Izzy, two mouthy vanilla girls, he begins to see their charm.

These bratty girls seem more into each other than into him and he wonders if he's wasting his time. Yet despite the clash between his strict version of BDSM and their rebellious natures, he finds himself growing to love them.

When his need for control tears their relationship apart, they must learn to compromise or they will lose each other. People might not be perfect, but could these two be perfect for him?

Warning: this book contains a saucy tattoo artist with a love for the strap, a Dom who turns bratty girls into sex zombies, and a Big Evil Bed that’s used to tie up unsuspecting subs.

Chapter One

Gemma The Ink Haven didn’t look like much from the outside. The half-painted brick exterior and dark tinted windows weren’t exactly inviting. But the fresh spring air meant all the shops on the strip had opened their doors. Gemma snuck a glance inside. Red tile, a front counter then four tattoo stations behind it. The plush interior didn’t match the shabby outside. Heavy metal blasted from the gothic clothing shop next door, drowning out the classical music in the upscale salon on the other side. The small tattoo shop sat nestled between the two. She chuckled. It looked a little like that game, which one of these things is not like the other? She tightened her grip on her satchel, took a deep breath and walked inside. Immediately, the familiar scent of green soap and A&D ointment hit her. Every tattoo shop smelled the same. It made her feel warm inside. So did the soft buzzing of a tattoo machine coming from the rear station. A guy with a baby face under a baseball cap greeted her from behind the desk. “You looking to get a tattoo, gorgeous?” Leisurely, he ran his gaze over her body. Oh she’d just bet he’d like to tattoo her. “No, thanks,” she answered with a smile. Maybe she should pretend to be a tattoo virgin, just for fun. She used to do that to size up the competition back in Chicago. That game never lasted long. Once her t-shirt shifted up her arm a bit, her half-sleeve showed. But she wasn’t here to play games anyway. She pushed back her bangs and straightened her spine. “I heard you were looking for a new artist. I’m here to apply.” The guy at the counter raised his brows and gave her another once-over. She was used to being judged based on her gender – at least in the tattoo world. In the real world, she was used to being judged based on her tattoos. Couldn’t win either way. Though there were plenty of female tattoo artists, there were at least three times more males. She’d have to fight to get where she wanted. “Malachi!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Someone’s here about the job.” An attractive man with dark hair and a goatee appeared from a room in the back and made his way to the front desk, followed by a tattooed giant. The second man, though not much taller than the others, seemed to take up the whole room with an aura of masculine confidence. Her gaze was drawn to his face – clean shaven, dark almond-shaped eyes, perfect nose and lips…he was gorgeous. The first one, she guessed Malachi, glanced around the front of the shop, skipping over Gemma. When he realized she was the only one there, he finally said, “Who, her?” She almost rolled her eyes. “Yes, me.” “Hm.” He searched her face with big baby blues. The guy with the baseball cap smiled, revealing a charming set of dimples. Was this a hot guy factory? Did they make one in every shape and color? “Never had a girl apply,” Malachi said. “What’s your name?” “Gemma Stone.” He quirked a brow and she sighed. “Don’t ask.” Her parents, though eccentric, were well-meaning. They tried so hard to be cool and failed so miserably. At least they accepted her career and always supported her decisions. “Do you have a profile?” he asked. “Of course.” She shifted her satchel to the front and took out the photo album. “These are ones I’ve done in the last six months or so.” She handed it to Malachi. The guy at the counter browsed a tattoo magazine. The hottie behind Malachi watched with a bored expression as Malachi flipped through the pages. She fought the urge to fidget nervously. Show no signs of weakness. Big ego, no shame. That was how she’d made her way into the industry and it was how she planned on getting this job. “That’s some nice work,” Malachi said, handing the album back. “If it’s yours.” She tucked it back in her bag. “It is.” He looked her over. “You’re not tatted up, considering you’re an artist.” “Maybe I am and they’re just in places you can’t see.” She smirked and placed a hand on her hip. Malachi grinned. If he had any sense of humor at all, she could work for him. It’d been sad leaving her last shop, but staying there after... She swallowed back the bite of pain and anger. It was time for a fresh start. This wasn’t exactly home, but it was a tattoo shop. It could be her home. If they accepted her. “Alright, Gemma Stone, let’s see what you’ve got. Can you do one today?” “Of course.” She pulled the satchel over her head and set it down on a nearby chair. Malachi and the baseball cap guy watched her curiously as she stretched her wrists and arms. She’d just spent the last week lugging boxes to her new shared apartment and unpacking. Unless her victim wanted a wonky, stiff tattoo, she needed to loosen up a little. Malachi turned to the guy behind him, who looked like he was silently dying of boredom. “Cross, you up for a new tattoo?” Finally, his face came to life. Like the others, he looked her over. “By her?” Anyone else would’ve been offended, but she couldn’t even count the number of times she’d been through this song and dance. “Her portfolio is pretty good, man,” Malachi said. “And if the tattoo sucks, you know I’ll cover it on the house.” “Your confidence in me is astounding,” she muttered. Cross let out a long sigh and shifted his stance. “Alright. I’m willing to see a drawing at least.” “Great! Any ideas for what you want? I’ll need a few minutes to sketch though.” She dug through her satchel for paper and her favorite sketching pencil. “Where can I sit?” Malachi stroked his goatee as he assessed her. “You’re young. How long you been doing this?” She bit her lip and thought for a moment, then decided on the truth. “Officially five years. Unofficially since my sophomore year of high school.” He chuckled then looked at baseball hat guy. “Hear that, Jake? She’s been tattooing longer than you.” Jake shrugged. “Doesn’t mean she’s any good.” True. And that was why she had to prove herself. She looked at Cross. “Any ideas or do you want me to make something up?” He crossed his arms and smirked. “I’ll pick something. I’m not giving you free reign over my body. I’ll end up with a pink butterfly somewhere.” Ugh. She so hated stereotypes. And butterflies. “I can do a beautiful pink butterfly but I’d prefer to do something cool like a dragon or a phoenix. I can rock Chinese art but I’m wicked at horror pieces.” Cross thought for a moment then looked over his body. He didn’t have much room to spare. One leg was covered in an assortment of traditional American style tattoos. The other had an abstract circle design on his knee cap. One arm looked like a full sleeve, the other a half. She’d bet under that gray t-shirt, he had a few on his chest. Maybe a rib piece. “How about a gargoyle on the back of my calf,” he finally said. A gargoyle. She’d never done one. Didn’t mean she couldn’t though. “You got it. Give me half an hour. That okay?” “Sure.” He cracked a smile and turned to Malachi. “Maybe I should get a little fuzzy at the bar first so I forget about whatever cluster fuck I got myself into.” Smartass. “If it’ll calm your nerves, go for it. Just make sure you eat something. I don’t want you passing out on me. That wouldn’t look good on a job interview.” His brows shot up. “Do I look like the type who passes out during a tattoo?” She made a show of looking him over. By his expression, he didn’t like being scrutinized. Too damn bad. Sometimes turning the tables was the only way to deal with guys like him. “Yes, you do. I’ve learned the guys that look the toughest are usually the biggest babies.” He growled. Her stomach thunked. Holy shit. That was the sexiest thing she’d heard in a long time. Despite her self-confidence and easy way around guys, she didn’t have that much experience dating them. She was always the best friend, or the comic relief. The girl they let hang around cause she didn’t cramp their style and always had beer. Cross took at step toward her. “I have over half my body inked, girl. I think I’ll be fine.” Just because she thought it would bug him, and to show he couldn’t intimidate her, she grinned. “I’ll be gentle just in case.” Before he could respond, she spun and grabbed her bag. “I’m gonna go draw. See you in a bit!” Behind her, Malachi chuckled. “That one’s trouble. I can tell already.” Cross grunted then walked to the door. “I’m going to the office for a few. I’ll bring back Jude’s blueprints.” Malachi waved him away then ushered Gemma to a small workspace in the back next to the thermal fax. “Thermal paper’s here.” He pointed to a shelf above the desk. “You know how to work the fax?” “Of course.” “If you have any questions, I’ll be up front.” He smiled. “Good luck.” She didn’t need luck. Not when she had skill. Alone with pencil and paper and a bit of inspiration, she was in her comfort zone. First, she scrolled through some gargoyle photos on her phone, just to get some ideas for structure. Then she began her sketch. From up front, she heard Jake say, “You should hire her. She’s hot. We’ll get more customers.” “And what if your customers want her to tattoo them instead of you?” Malachi countered. Jake scoffed. “Not happening.” She smiled. We’ll see about that. Shutting out the sounds of the shop, she focused on her work. Twenty-five minutes later, she had a fierce little gargoyle, sized perfectly to fit Cross’s calf. She hoped. He was pretty big. But she could always enlarge it on the fax machine. Cross’s deep voice drew her from her haze. She turned toward the front of the shop and caught him staring before he quickly looked away. That familiar feeling of nervous energy started – the one that went with being attracted to a man. She stamped that down real quick. A rebound fuck? No. She had to get her shit together first. Transferring her image to the thermal paper would only take a few moments. First, she wanted to check it with him. Sketch in hand, she walked to her newest client. She’d be lying if she said her confidence didn’t falter just a bit. Not only was he a mean-looking man who could break her like a twig, but this was, essentially, a job interview. There weren’t a lot of tattoo shops in the area. And the others she’d scoped out online looked a few months from going out of business. “If we push out the back, we can at least double the size of this place,” Cross said, pointing to some blueprints laid out on the counter top. So they were planning to expand? Good news for her. Now she really wanted this job. “No pressure,” she whispered. With a deep breath, she stepped up to Cross. That he was sitting on a stool made it a little easier to approach him. “Ready.” He turned and looked at her, pinning her with a dark expression. Her insides clenched. He was so fucking sexy. She gulped. “Yes?” he said with a twitch of his lips. She shook herself out of the spell. “Um. Here’s what I came up with.” She held the drawing out toward him. “I can make changes though, if you don’t like something.” He took the drawing and studied it. “Hmm.” She shifted in place. “Can you make the horns a little farther back? So it doesn’t look like a goat.” Scowling, she leaned in to see the drawing. “It doesn’t look like a goat!” Even annoyed, she registered the heat of his body so close to hers. It didn’t help her libido that he smelled good. “I like the face.” “I made it snarling, like you.” He glared. Up close, he wasn’t as scary as he’d first seemed. “Alright,” he said with a nod. “Move the horns back and it’s good.” Malachi came around the counter. “Lemme see.” Cross handed him the drawing. He looked it over. “That’s a mean ass gargoyle. You tattoo as good as you draw and you’ve got the job.” She grinned. “I tattoo better than I draw. Might as well put me on the payroll now.” Cross laughed. “Cocky little thing. You’ll have your hands full with her,” he said to Malachi. She’d like his hands full of her. Shit. Where the fuck had that thought come from? She needed to get her mind out of the gutter and back in the tattoo shop. Was this a side effect of depriving herself of affection…of sexual contact for so long? Not that six months was that long. But if so, she hoped there was a pill for that. Or maybe she should get it out of her system. One down and dirty one night stand sounded good right about now. “Um,” she said, shakily. Head in the game! “I’ll have you lay down on a table while I work. Malachi? Which space?” Malachi set up a table in the back while she adjusted her drawing and made a stencil. Like most shops, each station contained a desk, a shelf above it, a garbage, and several drawers of supplies. This one was pretty clean and she wondered if it was waiting for an inhabitant – for her. Secretly, she was thrilled at the idea. She gestured to the table and looked up at Cross. “After you, sir.” He froze in place, his shoulders tense. His mouth tightened like he was fighting back a grin. Malachi and he exchanged a look. “You first, sir,” Malachi repeated with a smile. With a nudge he added, “How do you like that word coming from those sweet lips?” Were they making fun of her? She sighed. “Are we doing a kickass tattoo here or having a slumber party?” Cross sobered, drew himself up to his full height and stared down at her. She backed up a step, her heart pounding with excitement. “Just wait till the pillow fight,” he finally said. “Then you’re really in trouble.” She exhaled a laugh. “Shouldn’t we all be in our underwear then?” A blush crept up her cheeks. Why the hell had she said that? His eyes widened for a brief moment before he schooled his features. Ugh. She needed to practice her flirting skills. Before Sean, the cheating bastard, she’d been pretty good at it, when she wanted to be. “Ready to get started?” Cross stepped into her, crowding her until she felt like he even stole her breath. This time she didn’t back away. His scent, the warmth of his body invaded her senses, made her knees tremble and her heart flutter. But she stared him in the eye, proving she wouldn’t back down, no matter how commanding his presence. He peered down at her through narrowed eyes. “You sure you know what you’re doing, girl?” The term “girl” stung her pride. Sexist? Maybe she should tattoo extra deep and go heavy on the white highlights. Make him hurt. She laughed inside, knowing she’d never do something so unprofessional, tempting as it was. She blinked and straightened her spine. “Of course I know what I’m doing. And my name is Gemma, not Girl.” “I know.” He held eye contact for a moment too long, making her squirm under the weight of his glare. Fuck. Why was she letting him get to her? Her chest felt all warm and fuzzy. Naughty images popped in her mind. Cross kissing her, biting her, holding her hair, getting a little rough. Shit. Now her clit was feeling warm too. She couldn’t think of anything to say – not that her vocal chords were working anyway. So she grabbed the razor off the table and dropped to her knees on the floor. The position put other thoughts in her mind, especially with her head so close to his... She fought back a blush. He made a funny noise, like his breath hitched. At least she wasn’t the only one affected. Did he feel the sexual chemistry too? God, this better not fuck up her chance at a job. Who was this guy anyway? The conversation she’d overheard sounded like he owned the shop, or maybe the building. Quickly, she shaved the back of his leg. When the razor cruised over the taut muscle of his calf, she had to fight the urge to lay her palm there. As if she didn’t know what a man’s leg felt like. Ridiculous. She should lick him, join his fan club, and be done with it. She pressed on the stencil. When she lifted it away, it left a purple outline of a gargoyle sitting on a decorative ledge. “Take a look in the mirror,” she told him. “Make sure you like the placement.” He checked it in the full-length mirror on the other side of the shop then nodded. “Looks good.” “Okay.” She avoided eye contact for the time being. Until she could control her fucking hormones. “Up you go.” He walked to the table and settled face-down on top of it. The table creaked under his weight and his feet hung off the end. “Don’t fuck it up,” he had the nerve to say before laying his head on his folded arms. She sucked in a breath. “Stay still and be quiet like a good boy and I won’t make your tattoo look like a drunk, blind woman did it.” Cross let out one deep chuckle, though it didn’t sound like he’d found her funny. He muttered something under his breath she couldn’t hear. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malachi shake his head and smile. “You better watch yourself. Does he look like someone you want to anger?” Back to verbal sparring. That, she could handle. She turned to Malachi. “While I’m holding a tattoo machine? I think you mean that the other way around.” With a smirk, she looked at Cross. “What do you want again? A fairy?” When he arched a brow, she nudged his leg and smiled. “Just kidding. One badass gargoyle coming up.” “Good luck, man,” Malachi said then clapped him on the shoulder and walked to the front of the store. She set up her station, falling into the routine easily. It felt good. A wave of peace settled over her. She could do this. When the needle was in the machine, she dipped it in the black ink and leaned over her canvas. “You ready?” “Yes.” Not able to resist one more jest, she said, “Just remember to breathe through the pain, big guy.” He sighed. “Just do your job, girl.” She chuckled then put needle to the skin. Cross turned out to be a most cooperative client. He lay still through the whole outline, even in the most tender spot near the back of the knee. When she finished the outline, she wiped it down with a paper towel and pushed back to take a look. Solid lines, no shakiness – it was damn good. She smiled. “Perfect.” Cross didn’t make a sound. “You okay over there? Are you one of those rare people that sleep through tattoos?” He turned his head to give her a long look. “I’m in my happy place.” Laughing as she changed needles to start the shading, she replied, “What’s in your happy place? Rainbows and unicorns?” “Girls having pillow fights in their underwear.” She fiddled with the machine, pressing on the foot petal to start and stop it. “Maybe that should be your next tattoo. A big back piece.” “My back’s covered or I’d do it.” “Starting again,” she said then began the complex shading that would make the gargoyle come to life. “So what’s on your back?” He didn’t answer at first. Was he back in his happy place? “A battle,” he finally said. “A battle? That sounds interesting.” She wiped his skin with a paper towel, checked her work then started again. “Like a Luke Skywalker versus Darth Vader type thing? I did one of those once.” “No. Like a demons versus angels type thing.” He was religious? She shrugged. Her best friend growing up was Jewish. She’d been going to Seder dinner since she was a child. “Sounds cool. What made you choose that?” When she paused to wipe again, he shifted on the table. “You okay?” It was habit to check on clients. She’d had a few come close to passing out. Others cried. She tended to be on the gentler side for a tattooer, but depending on the area, the pain could be pretty intense. And she’d learned not to judge a client’s tolerance by their appearance. “It’s not the pain making me uncomfortable,” he answered. So he didn’t like questions about himself. Interesting. “Alright. Well, you don’t have to answer. I was just making conversation.” He fell into silence again. She regretted making him shut down. “You know, I have an angel on the side of my leg. Just a little to the left of where I’m putting your gargoyle. My friend back home did it. It’s kind of like my guardian. I’m not sure if it works that way, but it feels...just right to have it there, you know?” “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.” After she finished the shading to her satisfaction, she put the tight needle back in the machine and went back to add cracks and divots, giving it dimension so it looked like old stone. “So do you work here too?” she asked him, unable to take the silence any longer. At her old shop, her and the guys had bullshitted constantly. It had always felt like a party. “I own the building,” he answered. Ah. So she was right. “Malachi rents this space from me. And I own and manage the shop next door.” She stopped, holding the machine just above his skin. “The salon?” A deep chuckle escaped him. “No. The gothic clothing store.” “That makes more sense.” “The salon is owned by Judy. A royal pain in my ass,” he mumbled, settling his forehead on his arms. “We almost done? I have to get back to work.” “Yes.” She wiped the ink and small dots of blood away. “Just a few white highlights then I’m done.” Grinning, she stared down at her work. “It’s fucking awesome.” “I’ve never met a girl so confident,” he said, laughing softly. Fake it till you make it, she used to say. It had worked. Having to prove herself over and over had built her confidence. Now her biggest issue was perfectionism. Lync, the guy that she’d apprenticed with, had yelled at her constantly for overworking the skin, trying to make the tattoo perfect. She’d learned to scale back but still managed to find flaws in everything she did. She never let the customer know of course - just took mental notes to do better next time. And she practiced. And practiced and practiced. On paper, on herself. She coudn’t wear short shorts in the summer without getting more than a few disgusted stares at her inked up thighs. “Done!” she said cheerfully. After a few spritzes with the rubbing alcohol mix and a wipe down with green soap, she loaded on the A&D ointment then went to help Cross off the table. She reached for his arm but stopped when he shot her a glare. Macho bastard. “So what do you think?” Cross walked to the mirror and twisted his upper body to see the new ink. She watched his face carefully. He didn’t seem the type to sugar coat things but she didn’t know him well enough to be sure. Her customer’s satisfaction was always first in her mind. He studied the tattoo far too long for her comfort. “Well?” she finally blurted. “Do you like it? Cause it’s kind of stuck there.” With a small smile, he turned to face her. “I like it.” She had a feeling that was the best she’d get from him. It was probably even a compliment. She beamed like an idiot. Cross’s lips lifted in a cocky smile. “It’s a good tattoo.” Nodding, she tried to tone down the crazy in her smile. “I’m glad you like it.” “All done?” Malachi appeared next to them. “Let’s see it.” Cross turned and Malachi bent down to inspect her work. Despite her confidence in the tattoo, she was still nervous having it assessed by another artist. She looked at it from his point of view. Crap. It could’ve used a little more grittiness in the scroll on the ledge and maybe one more shadow behind his face and... “That’s some excellent work there, darling,” Malachi said, interrupting her critique. “Fill out a few forms, let me do a background check, then you can start right away.” Yes! She felt like jumping around the room, cheering. “Thank you!” “Congratulations,” Cross said with a smile. “Glad I could help get you a job.” “Yes, you made an excellent victim.” His gaze flitted up and down her body and she thought he muttered something about her being his victim next. That should’ve freaked her the fuck out, but she was too happy to care. She cleaned the station while making mental plans to get her own apartment as soon as possible. The roommate her aunt, who lived nearby, had hooked her up with was – she shuddered - perky. Gemma could barely handle her in the mornings, even after a cup of coffee. She needed to make friends and quick, just so she could hang out somewhere she wouldn’t be accosted by a bubbly ray of fucking sunshine. Friendly and positive was one thing, hugs at eight in the morning and a greeting in a high-pitched squealy voice just made her want to go back to bed. “Hey.” A girl’s husky voice from the front piqued Gemma’s interest. It’d be nice to see how they handled new customers. Their good business practice meant more success for her. “I’d like to get a tattoo.” A skinny girl with brown hair in a punk-style asymmetrical bob was speaking to a grinning Jake. Gemma knew why he was grinning. Her Aussie accent was charming. Jake got up from his stool behind the counter. “You’ve come to right place. I’m Jake.” He held out his hand and she shook it hesitantly. “Izzy.” Malachi and Cross ignored them, hovering over blueprints instead. “What are you looking to get, sweetheart?” Jake asked. “This is my first tattoo, but I’m thinking a phoenix.” Oh boy. Tattoo virgin. “But not very big. Maybe just the silhouette of one? I was hoping the artist could help me. I don’t really know what I’m doing.” She chuckled nervously. Jake nodded. “Sure. We can make it small. An abstract shape type thing. Where do you want it?” Like he did to Gemma, he looked Izzy over with a smirk. She arched a brow at his blatant perusal. “Well it’s not going on my tits if that’s what you’re hoping.” Gemma almost choked. This Izzy didn’t mince words. Jake turned bright red. Even Cross and Malachi stopped what they were doing to look toward them. Cross’s gaze lingered a little long, Gemma thought. Jake composed himself. “Right. Where then?” “I was thinking my hip.” She pulled up her t-shirt, revealing her flat stomach. With her satchel on one shoulder, Gemma headed to the front of the stop. “That’s a painful place to start with, hon.” Izzy and Jake turned to Gemma. Izzy shrugged. “We Aussies are tougher than you lot.” The small smirk said she was joking. “Sure you are.” He chuckled. “But Gemma’s right. I don’t recommend the hip for a first-timer.” At Izzy’s side, Gemma asked, “Was there another spot you were thinking about?” “God save me from helpful Americans.” She sighed. “Ankle?” Gemma fought back a grin. “Ankle is better, but if you’re dead set on your hip, I’m sure Jake will take your money and do it.” She laughed. “No, ankle is fine.” “First thing you do at a tattoo shop is ask to see the artist’s profile,” she told Izzy. Jake slapped a book on the table then gave the girl a cocky look. Izzy flipped through the first few pages while Gemma peered over her shoulder. His work was pretty fucking amazing. “There.” She pointed to a picture of graffiti-style old-school boombox, rich with color and personality. “See the thick black outline? It’s solid, smooth. No shakiness. That’s the sign of a good artist.” Izzy stared at the picture. “Listen, I don’t work here yet so I can give you an unbiased opinion. He’s a good artist. He’ll give you a beautiful tattoo.” Malachi chimed in from the other side of the L-shaped counter. “Jake’s one of the best. I taught him myself.” “You wish, man,” Jake said with a scoff. “I learned my style on the streets.” Izzy looked from Jake to Malachi. Then her gaze fell on Cross. She did a double-take and stared for a few solid seconds. Yeah, Gemma understood that feeling. She bit back a chuckle. Cross glanced up, met Izzy’s gaze then slid his to Gemma and winked. She almost blushed. Jake and Malachi were arguing about who taught who what. Izzy looked a little shaken after she managed to pull her gaze from Cross’s toned biceps. So he had that effect on her too? She took Izzy’s hand and led her to the couch by the door. “Have a seat. Jake will draw you something and you can say yes or no. All the power is yours. If you don’t like it, we’ll just make him change it, even if it takes a hundred times.” “I’ll get it in one shot,” he yelled from the counter, pencil already in hand. “I’m that good.” Grimacing, Izzy toyed with the corner of her shorts. “He’s a cocky bastard, isn’t he?” She laughed. “Most guys are.” For some reason, she looked at Cross just then. To her surprise, he was watching them, a mysterious look on his face. Maybe he had the hots for Izzy. Men usually liked foreign girls. Izzy looked up at her. “It’s Gemma, right?”” “Yes.” “Be honest, Gemma. How much does it hurt?” She sighed. Classic question. Now how to answer so she didn’t scare the shit out of her. She had a feeling Izzy was in it either way, but making her nervous wouldn’t help anyone. “Not gonna lie. It does hurt. But if you’re going small and Jake is quick, it shouldn’t be too bad. Did you know women have a higher pain tolerance than men?” With a head nod at Cross, she said, “That big guy there just had his calf tattooed and almost bawled on the table.” Izzy laughed. Cross’s eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t tell lies, little girl.” Her stomach thunked again. Why was it hot when he called her something so patronizing? An image flashed in her mind – Cross, naked and rising above her, stern look on his face. Again, she had to pull her mind out of the gutter. “You can handle it,” she said to Izzy. “Trust me. And Jake will give you as many breaks as you need, right Jake?” He looked up from his drawing. “Don’t worry about anything. I’m fast and gentle.” His lips curved into a wide smile. “At tattooing anyway.” “Americans,” Izzy muttered under her breath. Gemma shook her head. “No. Men.”

Copyright Cari Silverwood 2012. All rights reserved. No part of these publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.